


keep the game

by 1001cranes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Mile High Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/pseuds/1001cranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set before the clingy airport hug. you know the one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep the game

**Author's Note:**

> I hate everyone in this bar.

These days they’ve got it down to a science. 

Dylan waits until they’re fifteen or twenty minutes off the ground. After the flight attendant has been around asking about drinks, and Linden can order ‘a water for me, and a diet Coke for my son’ while Dylan rolls his eyes and makes a face like the petulant teenager he pretends to be. Sometimes Linden gets to make small talk with the flight attendant, depending on whether they’ve got kids of their own, and they wait long enough for everyone else to be settled into their seats, headphones plugged in and picking out an in-flight movie.

Then Dylan goes to the bathroom, and Linden gives him a five minutes headstart before following. 

 

"Motion sickness," Linden says if the attendant is nearby, and sort of half-smiles as if woefully exasperated. "Gets that from his mother." The attendants usually pull sympathetic faces, or offer Dramamine or crackers or ginger ale that Linden waves away. 

He taps on the door, twice. ”Dylan? Son? It’s me,” and waits for the click of the latch before he goes inside and latches it back behind him. 

"Hey Dad," Dylan says, cheeky. Grinning from ear to ear. He’s  _ridiculous_ , pants and underwear around his ankles, dick in hand and stroking slowly, because its gotten to the point where Dylan is half-hard by the time they even board a plane. Because he knows what’s coming. 

It’s a tight squeeze in the bathrooms whatever the line, whether first class or not. Sometimes Dylan is braced against the sink, or against the wall next to the toilet. Sitting on the lid, maybe, if its not too gross or too cold. Today his ass is settled on the tiny shelf above the toilet, legs braced wide. Not quite on tiptoe, but tensed. Calves tight. 

"Son," Linden says again, and takes the bare half-step towards Dylan, in-between his legs. "Feeling better?"

"Oh, tons," Dylan says, still with that crazy happy grin, even as Linden pulls Dylan’s shirt up and out of the way, grabs Dylan’s hands and pushes them behind his back. "Feeling  _real_  good,” as Linden rubs himself against the inside of one of Dylan’s thighs. Denim rough against the smooth skin, an inch or two away from Dylan’s balls, from where his dick is curved up, hitting his stomach when Linden thrusts just hard enough. 

Linden takes a moment to look Dylan over, up and down, flushed face to flushed dick, straining legs, like he hasn’t spent the fifteen or twenty minutes before this thinking about exactly what he’d like to do. There aren’t as many choices as Linden would like. Linden can’t give a blowjob like this - too cramped and too hard on the knees, especially at his age - and trying to slip lube past airport security is a headache best forgotten. Dylan is flexible enough, bless him, but Linden always wants to take his time, get Dylan open and hot and ready when Linden sinks balls deep inside him, either end.

"We can’t actually stay in here forever, you know," Dylan says after a few moments. Which is what Linden was thinking, really, and isn’t that a pain in the ass. It’s still a few hours until they land in L.A. 

"Unzip me," he says instead, and Dylan  _brightens_ , just lights up, full force. 

"Mhmm," half a hum, as he unbuttons Linden’s jeans and yanks them down. One hand already pulling at Linden’s erection, palm still just a little damp - spit, or Dylan’s own precome - and just the right amount of friction. "Commando, huh?"

"My underwear went missing."

Dylan flutters his lashes. This kid. “Oops. Wonder how that happened,” and Linden shifts just a few inches to the left in retaliation. Thrusts hard enough for Dylan to squeak, hands scrabbling for Linden’s shoulders as his dick jumps against Linden’s, an involuntary flex of his hips.

“ _Rude_.”

"Don’t tease," Linden says. "Teases get what’s coming to them, don’t they?" and the lashes drop again. 

"Mhmm," sweet and low and not really the least bit apologetic. Dylan  _could_  be - could pretend, could act, obviously, but Linden likes the almost-reality of their game more than anything else. Dylan gets him worked up in a way he’d almost forgotten about. Old dogs, old tricks. 

"Come on," Linden says, nudging his nose against Dylan’s. Pushing in for a kiss, greedy and hot. "Should take care of you, shouldn’t I?" and Dylan’s hands dig in, hard, as Linden tilts Dylan up, ruts them together again and again and again. Fast, because every minute that ticks by is another for someone to come by and find them. "Take care of my boy, huh?"

"Y-yeah," Dylan stutters, Adam’s apple bobbing. 

"Wouldn’t want anyone to find you like this," Linden says. Holding tight to Dylan’s hips. Fingers slipping down to play with Dylan’s hole while Dylan bites at Linden’s lower lip, swallowing up all those low, grateful noises.

"Oh," Dylan sobs out, "oh,  _Daddy_ ,” because he has to be quiet, he’s so good at being quiet like this, where anyone could hear. Linden will let him be louder later, when they’ve got even half a chance at real privacy, a bed.

"Good boy," he grits out instead, "Daddy’s got you," and he gets to watch Dylan shake apart, thunk his head against the wall again, hard, set back and straining. It’s enough to get Linden off, shaky jarring thrusts against Dylan’s heaving belly, his sensitive still-hard cock. Knocking the breath right out of him. 

Dylan is a little out of it after. Not entirely surprising, considering how little sleep the kid’s had recently. Linden grabs a handful of tissue paper to wipe them off, slow and careful, and holds Dylan up when he starts to sag against him.

"Can you finish cleaning up okay?" Linden asks as he zips himself back up, and Dylan nods, sleepy, his mouth still open and hot against Linden’s jaw. 

"Yep," Dylan says, making a little pop sound at the end. "Good going, daddio."

He’ll probably sleep the rest of the flight; legs wide and sprawled open, head resting against Linden’s shoulder. And Linden will ruffle his hair to wake him up, tugging just so until Dylan swats at him.


End file.
